THE OOLOGIST'S EXCHANGE. 



LAST NUMBER 



VOL. II. 



NEW YORK, FEBRUARY, 1890. 



No. 11. 



ON THE INDIAN RIVER. FLORIDA. 



BT FRANK C. BAKER. 



I started out in the morning, imme- 

 diately after breakfast, for a trip to 

 Fred's Clearing. After traveling 

 through the trail, for half or three 

 quarters of an hour, one moment sink- 

 ing half way to my knees in a mud 

 hole, and another, forcing my way 

 through the saw Palmetto scrub, I at 

 last arrived at the clearing. The clear- 

 ing is quite large and set out in young 

 orange trees, and if no accident hap- 

 pens it will, in time, become a fine 

 grove. Above and upon all sides could 

 be heard the notes of Sparrows, 

 Grackles and Crows. Warblers were 

 carolling ever so gay, and the low 

 notes of a pair of Ground Doves could 

 be distinctly heard, but above all 

 others, the shrill screams of a Red- 

 Shouldered Hawk circling round high 

 in the air. I was picking my way 

 through some low bushes which border 

 the clearing when all at once I heard 

 a most curious sound, " honk, honk, 

 honk, honk." I stopped, and again it 

 was repeated. I started to find what 

 it was, and looking upward I saw fly- 

 ing from me a Great Blue Heron 

 ( Ardea Berodias). I quickly pulled up 

 and fired, but I suppose I must have 

 missed as he did not falter in the 

 least. 



Seeing that he "lit" beside a little 

 pond, a half mile away, I thought, it 

 might be worth while to try for him 

 again. Accordingly, I dropped on my 

 hands and knees and began to crawi. 

 I had gotten within one hundred and 

 fifty yards of him, when up he went 

 and sailed over towards Scott's Park, 

 still giving forth that peculiar " honk, 

 honk." 



I retraced my way to the Lodge and 

 spent the rest of the day until five 

 o'clock in skinning the few birds I had 

 on hand. In the evening I collected 

 some insects, among which was the 

 larvae of the June Bug {Lachnosterna 

 Fiiscal), called by the farmer the 

 White Grub. This larvae grows to 

 the size of the little finger, and de- 

 vours voraciously the roots of vegeta- 

 bles; after remaining some years in 

 this state, it changes to a pupa, emer- 



ges a beetle, feeds on leaves and final- 

 ly lays its eggs and dies. 



Next morning I arose and immedi- 

 ately began making preparations for a 

 trip up the river with Mr. R., who hired 

 a small sail -boat for the trip. After 

 breakfast we looked over our clothes, 

 guns, etc., to see if they were in good 

 order. I found upon examining my 

 rubber boots that they were punctured 

 by at least a dozen holes, and I spent 

 half an hour in mending them. We 

 nexttook our guns to pieces, thorough- 

 ly cleaned and oiled them. I found 

 upon going to my tent that I had over- 

 looked a Mocking Bird, secured yes- 

 terday, and I had to devote fifteen or 

 twenty minutes to accomplish this ob- 

 ject. "While skinning the bird, I was 

 highly entertained by the Grackles, 

 who flocked around my tent in great 

 numbers, making the air resound with 

 their discordant cries which resemble 

 exactly the squeaking of a wheel- 

 barrow as the wheel goes round and 

 round. They were very tame and 

 seemed to delight in strutting up to 

 within fifteen feet of the tent and stop- 

 ping there, giving me a vocal solo, 

 turning their heads from side to side, 

 aud if I chauced to move, they would 

 crescendo in a major key, and hastily 

 hop off a little distance, and when all 

 had become still again, the perform- 

 ance would be repeated. They are a 

 species of our northern Purple Grackle 

 (Quiscalns Quisciila) Algaeus.) After 

 finishing my bird, Mr. R. and myself 

 took the professor's duck-boat and 

 rowed to the Cormorant snag to re- 

 move our traps to take with us on our 

 trip. Taking our traps we started for 

 the house and made our final prepa- 

 rations for the trip. 



At eleven o'clock we had loaded 

 our luggage in the boat and were 

 ready for the start. Ten minutes after 

 we were on our way down Mullet 

 Creek. We poled along (there being 

 no wind) and had gotten as far as 

 Grass Point, when suddenly and as 

 usual, unexpectedly, a flock of Ducks 

 rose from the grass and weeds with a 

 startled quack, and made off as fast as 

 their wings could carry them. It was 

 a pretty straight away shot, and before 

 the pole can be laid down and the gun 

 grasped the ducks are out of sight be- 

 hind Scott's Park. We resumed our 

 poling and in a short time reached the 

 southeast corner of Scott's Park and 

 upon turning the point what should I 



